


Follow Me Into The Dark

by mara_joy



Series: No Keia La, No Keia Po, A Mau Loa [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: S2E10 Ki'ilua, Hurt!Steve, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mara_joy/pseuds/mara_joy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>REVISED. He opened his eyes for a split second. Saw shapes and vague colors. Blinked. Refocused on jungle boots and the end of a rifle. He closed his eyes again. There was nothing more to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Me Into The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Read and edited by the incredible stephaniejane.
> 
> "No Keia La, No Keia Po, A Mau Loa" means From This Day, From This Night, Forevermore.

_(Do I—)_  
   
 He’d been hopeful. Like, when he got back, maybe this would be it. Like this…this thing would stop being just _a thing_. Would be something more.  
   
 _(Is that concern that I see?)_  
   
Too blue eyes were crinkling slightly, but something else was there. Something scared, something terrified. Something that twisted at him.  
   
 _(Yeah, you jerk. I’m concerned.)_  
   
It went straight into him. Just pierced all the way through and gripped right into the center of him.  
   
When he got back, he’d make this more.  
   
 _(Big deal.)_  
   
But it was. It so, so was.  
   
 _(I’ll be fine, all right?)_  
   
 _Danny. So sorry._  
   
 _(Do me a favor, all right? Watch yourself.)_  
   
 _Too late. Too fucking late. Damn idiot._  
   
He hurt. So much. He’s scraped open, raw and bloody. Everything is in pain.  
   
Head. Chest. Stomach. Down into his soul.  
   
Danny. So sorry.  
   
He tries gripping on to something—the floor of the Humvee, a focused thought, but it was getting harder and harder. He can feel himself winding down. He’d be dead soon. As soon as Wo Fat realized he really didn’t know a fucking thing about Shelbourne, he’d be dead.  
   
Dead like Jenna. Like poor, stupid Jenna.  
   
Jenna who was too young. Jenna who had loved too much. Jenna who had screwed up. Jenna who had saved his life.  
   
 _(It wasn’t for nothing.)_  
   
But it would be. Here, very shortly, it would all be for nothing.  
   
He opens his eyes for a split second. Sees shapes and vague colors. Blinks. Refocuses on jungle boots and the end of a rifle. He closes his eyes again. There’s nothing more to see.  
   
He thinks he hears the sound of stone being blasted apart, thinks he feels the Humvee shudder and jolt around him. But he’s too damn tired to be sure.  
   
 There are loud, popping noises all around him, constant and harsh. Ba-da-da-da-da-dada.  
   
He tries focusing on those sounds, tries figuring out what they are, but every time he comes close, the answers faded.  
   
His head is killing him.  
   
He tries pushing himself up, could’ve puked at the agony that shot through his ribcage. Tries again and this time, even with the lightning bolts that get stronger with every slight movement, he makes it.  
   
Abruptly, everything stops. For a second, it’s silent and he closes his eyes. He thinks he’s waiting for something. Maybe. He doesn’t know.

The second a voice filters through the quiet, just like that, it all comes back. The beatings, the cattle prod, the look in Jenna’s eyes as she tossed the pin his way, the way the tears stained her face as he closed her eyes. He remembers Wo Fat and how the bastard had taken advantage of a young woman in love and taken her choices away from her.

 And he feels the clearest he has in hours.  
   
His heart pounds and his skin prickles. He runs through it all in his head as footsteps sound around him. He has enough in him. He’s been beaten like this before. Bound hand and foot before. But he has enough in him for one last fight.  
   
He probably couldn’t win. But he’d let himself think about Danny during those last moments; Danny, who would’ve probably called him a moron for doing it— _Stand down, McGarrett! Jesus!—_ Danny, who would’ve blasted him left and right with his words, hands just barely missing him with every stab and slash through the air. Danny, whose face in his head took him away from all the punches planted into his stomach, cuts to his jaw that spun him around, up at his chin that snapped his head backwards.  
   
 _(I’ll think about you the whole time.)_  
   
Danny probably hadn’t believed him. He isn’t sure if he’d meant to say it as lightly as he had. He thinks he did, because that’s what this thing—whatever this is—is. Joking and lightheartedness. Smiles and grins and the intensity of it forced into banter and smart-assedness.  
   
And he’d have Danny’s face and Danny’s voice in his head at the end.  
   
The footsteps get closer and he forces himself into stillness—familiar, yet not, too long out of this particular game of covertness. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he slumps himself over, drops his head to the side.  
   
When light filters through his barely open eyes and the pain of bullets doesn’t follow, he lifts his head just a little.  
   
For a split second, he thinks that the Danny in his head has plastered its image over the man who is about to kill him. But he hears the sharp intake of breath and meets sharp blue eyes, and he knows it isn’t just his imagination.  
   
The shock of it makes him dizzy. He feels the blood drain from his head, even as he hears the rush of it in his ears. He never takes his eyes off his partner; too afraid that as soon as he does, he’d be proven wrong.  
   
He hears Danny’s voice shout something, he doesn’t know what, but before he has time to really think about it, Danny is in front of him, sweaty and so damned real, he could weep.  
   
“ _Danny_.” It’s all he can say as Danny throws his rifle to the side. Some part of him wants to say something about the sanctity of weapons and the respect they deserve, but as Danny drops down in front of him, it’s all he can do to not collapse into the other man.  
   
He fights back the weakness and forces himself to focus. “Where’s Wo Fat?”  
   
He wants to laugh at the face his partner gave him, he really does. That face was his escape from the shocking brutality of the cattle prods and the vicious, unrelenting fists of the last god knows how many hours. He wants to grab that face and surround himself with Danny so he could just...not think, just forget, just stop fucking hurting. But Joe appears behind Danny’s back and he knows _not yet. Not the time. Not the place. Mission isn’t complete yet._  
   
“Just shut up, will you?” Danny’s voice filters through his thoughts. The harshness in those few words stab into him, the anger in them so apparent and all he can think was _shit. I’ve done it now._  
   
But then Danny’s hands are on his, tugging at the ropes, trying to get them undone, and they are shaking and frantic and so goddamn gentle.  
   
He wonders if Danny knew he was talking out loud. The mantra of _come on, come on, come on_. _Let’s go, let’s get you out of here._ He wonders if Danny knew how he sounded, how close to broken, how breathless, like just saying the words was ripping through him.

He doesn’t remember Danny pulling him to his feet, but he does remember the way the dizziness grayed his vision. He remembers the split second thought of _shit_ ; he remembers Danny’s choked off curse when the grip Danny has on his arm slides right off, and he will never fucking forget the way his body just _screamed_ when it hit the ground.  
   
He curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his ribs, he might’ve whimpered and he probably puked but he’d deny both to his dying day, they could kiss his goddamn ass.  
   
“Steve! Damn it!” He can barely hear Danny’s voice over the roaring in his ears. When he feels a pressure on his shoulder, pushing downward, he tries to move away from it and could only bite back the groan of pain. “I know, babe. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I need to have a look at you. Can you let me do that? Hey, hey, look at me.” There was a hand on his cheek, then at his forehead. Another one cupped his jaw, “Open your eyes, babe. Look at me.”  
   
He’s trying, but god, he hurt. He can’t get air past the hurt.  
   
“Steve. Steven. McGarrett! On me!”  
   
It’s by instinct and instinct alone that he responds to that authoritative tone.  
   
He forces his eyes open and wants to squeeze them right shut as the doubled and blurred _everything_ swims around in his vision, making his stomach lurch.  
   
“That’s it.” Danny’s smile is shaky and he feels Danny’s hand at his neck. Then he wonders why Danny looks so damn scared. “This is going to suck, but I need to check you out.”  
   
 “Danno…I’m not that easy.” Is that his voice? What the hell? He doesn’t remember swallowing glass.  
   
“It’s all right. I’ll still respect you in the morning.” The lightness in Danny’s voice drops off at the end when he rolls to his back— _shit, shit, shit, shit—_ anddrops his arms. He knows Danny tried to mask the horror, but it didn’t quite work. Then in the next second, resolve takes over and he could’ve laughed when Danny nodded without saying a word. “All right. We’re getting the hell out of here, we are getting back to Oahu, we are planting your ass in the hospital, and you my friend, are going to listen to me very, very carefully. Do you understand me? We are going to talk about ridiculously insane shit and the ways to properly go about handling it, and you are going to fucking listen to me. You are not going to open your stupid mouth, you Neanderthal. You are going to nod and take notes and make fucking _post-its. Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?_ ”  
   
He narrows his eyes at his partner, “That bad, huh?”  
   
“Never again, Steven. You will never do this shit again. Now, get your ass up, I want out of this shithole.” As harsh as his words were, Danny’s hands are gentle—and _trembling_ —when he takes hold of his arm and hooks it over his shoulder. “Chin, grab his other side.”  
   
And he can’ help the surprise when Chin appeared out of thin air, mouth drawn into a tight line and his face a little pale. “What—”  
   
Chin shakes his head. “Don’t even, brah. There was never any question.” And he’s just as gentle as Danny as they lift him to his feet. He feels both arms tighten around him when he wavers, and he can’t stop the moan at the pain that shot through his chest.  
   
“Easy. Take a minute.” Danny says it quietly, breath brushing gently over his ear.  
   
He drops his head and tries to take a deep, even breath, knows it isn’t going to happen when he feels a deep, deep twinge.  
   
“You gonna make it?”  
   
When he hears Joe, he unconsciously straightens his spine and his ribs protest, immediately and angrily. He clenches his jaw through it and nods. “Yes, sir.”  
   
He can just feel Danny’s eye roll and barely suppressed groan. What he bites back this time, is a smile.  
   
As they trail through the jungle for the next too goddamn long, the feel of Danny at his side helps him to focus on taking one step, then another, helps him to breathe through the pain. Danny’s presence is strong and steady. Real. The ground underneath him batters his already shredded feet; the uneven terrain wreaks pounding hell on his body even with Danny and Chin holding tight to him. Every step brings darkness deeper in the corners of his eyes, every stumble makes getting steady harder and harder. When the sound of the chopper’s blades can be heard through the trees, he knows if it weren’t for Chin and Danny supporting him, he would’ve collapsed in relief.

 

It feels like miles before they’re at the chopper. He’s got the wind whipping up around him, and he’s just numb. With exhaustion, with incredulity, with all those emotions in between. He sees Lori jump out of the chopper, feels her throw her arms around him, but he can’t do anything it. He’s not sure what he would’ve done with it if he could.

  
He supposes he’s stupid for being so relieved to have a rifle in his hand, surrounded by over a half a dozen men who could shoot better blindfolded than he can with a scope right now. The sound as he cocks it deadens the sound of Wo Fat firing the bullets that had pierced Jenna’s chest. Holding its weight in his hands gives him something to focus on besides the weight—that exhausting fight that was trying to stay in control—coming over his entire body.

 

He wonders where Kono is. Wonders if she decided to stay in Oahu. He wants to ask, but he can’t get the words to form on his tongue.  
   
Joe probably knows that he’s running on fumes that are quickly burning out. His CO’s legs are still on either side of him, two strong hands are heavy on his shoulders, holding against the shakes he’s beginning to have a hard time controlling.  
   
He can see Chin looking at him, something like alarm on his face. Sees Chin’s lips moving but can’t get his mind working enough to decipher the words. Colors are starting to leech out into gray and he wonders why the sound of the chopper’s blades are getting louder and more constant than just rhythmic.  
   
He feels his head drop back into Joe’s lap— _sorry, sir—_ and his arms get too damn weak to hold the rifle. He feels Danny drop from his seat above, to his knees right next to him, face pale and tense and voice too hollow for him to understand. When Danny grabs his face harsh and rough, he doesn’t have anything left to do anything about the pain. He’s so tired, all his reserves are drained, and besides, Danny’s got his back. He can close his eyes now. He’s safe.  
   
Everything fades in and out, for the sound of Danny saying something, desperate and hoarse, and the sight of his eyes, wide and panicked.  
   
He wants to say something, _don’t worry, just tired. It’s all good, Danno, gonna take a break._  
   
 _I’m sorry._  
   
 _I thought about you the whole time._  
   
His name in Danny’s voice follows him into the dark.

 

 


End file.
